Chaos and Order
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Inspired by "The Fight". Seven is the only one who doesn't appear in Chakotay's boxing hallucinations. What role would she have played if she had, and how would she react to seeing him in that state? Pre-C/7. Requested by Alaster Boneman.


Chaos and Order

By Laura Schiller

Based on: _Star Trek: Voyager_

Copyright: Paramount

/

"Make it stop!" Chakotay cried. "I can't take much more of this!"

His face was twisted in agony, his hair and uniform soaked with sweat. He writhed on the biobed while Ensign Paris and the Doctor held him down. He had shouted himself hoarse; his voice was barely recognizable.

Seven did not know if _she _could take much more of this either.

Even as she concentrated with Borg efficiency on the readings from Chakotay's cortical monitor, trying to learn what his altered brain waves might reveal about the chaotic space _Voyager_ was trapped in, she could feel her own palms beginning to sweat and her stomach clench. If compassion was supposed to be a healthy quality for an individual, why was it making her feel so sick?

The First Officer was one of the most stoic people she knew, including Tuvok. How much must he be suffering to make him act this way? The last time she had heard anyone scream and plead like that, she had been on a Borg cube as the Queen's prisoner, forced to be complicit in the assimilation of an entire species.

"Doctor," she called, with a crack in her voice not unlike Chakotay's, even though she'd barely said a word during the procedure.

The Doctor shimmered through the force field and hurried over to stand beside her. Paris stayed with Chakotay, murmuring reassuring words the First Officer didn't seem to hear.

"Have you found something?" asked the Doctor anxiously, peering at the data on her screen.

"This is unconscionable," she snapped. "There must be another way."

"If you've got a better idea, I'm listening," the Doctor shot back, keeping his eyes on his patient, the biting sarcasm in his tone a thin disguise for his guilt and concern. He did not like this any more than she did.

Chakotay was hallucinating now, talking about boxing and Boothby and Kid Chaos in random, disjointed phrases that made no sense. Paris had rolled up the diagnostic arch over the bed to keep him from falling out, but Chakotay kept pushing against it, even punching it, though the steel must have left bruises on his ungloved hands.

Seven knew exactly how it felt, beating futilely against that arch, panicking because she couldn't get out, even if she knew it was only there for her own safety.

That gave her an idea. It was terrible idea, but still preferable to doing nothing.

"I could take his place."

"I beg your pardon?" The Doctor gasped, his eyes bulging.

"You could use our transceivers to link my mind with his, as you did when you severed me from the Collective - "

"Absolutely not!" The Doctor did not raise his voice, but his furious whisper carried far enough that Paris looked over at them with a worried frown. Chakotay heard nothing. His head was slumped sideways on the pillow like an exhausted child's.

"You don't have the gene," the Doctor continued. "Remember? Commander Chakotay is the only crew member who has it, it's the only reason they can talk to him at all, and look!" He swept an accusatory hand in the direction of the biobed. "What do you think the consequences would be for someone who's even less equipped to contact them than he is?"

"I was Borg. I am accustomed to taking instructions from an alien hive mind."

"You're not a drone anymore. Your encounter with the Vinculum nearly destroyed you, and Commander Tuvok as well." The Doctor's eyes met hers with a fierce protectiveness. "Chakotay's condition is out of our hands, it's between him and the aliens. As Chief Medical Officer, however, I refuse to put any more people at risk."

She watched over his shoulder as Chakotay stared glassy-eyed at the ceiling, pleading for his grandfather to come home.

They weren't friends, she and the Commander. He was wary of her and she couldn't blame him; in fact she respected his healthy caution about the Borg. So why did every particle of her insist on helping him? She couldn't understand it. Was this the compassion Captain Janeway had wanted her to learn – or was it something more?

All she knew was that she wanted him back the way she knew him: their strong, level-headed First Officer, who could stand up to the Captain and calm down Lieutenant Torres even in their worst moods, who had given Seven work to do when she was lonely, who showed dimples when he smiled at her novice attempts at humor, who could see the beauty in an Omega particle and had never once tried to push her to be more human.

"_Bridge to Seven of Nine," _came the captain's voice through her commbadge. _"Report to Astrometrics."_

"I am needed in Sickbay, Captain," she argued, even as the frightened little girl in her was relieved to escape to her quiet station. "I must monitor Commander Chakotay's cortical scans - "

"_The Doctor can do that." _Janeway's voice was gravelly with worry and fatigue. _"Right now, what you need to monitor is chaotic space. You're the only one so far who's been able to find order in the chaos. Until Chakotay makes contact, you're our best shot at keeping _Voyager _in one piece."_

"Acknowledged, Captain. On my way."

"_Janeway out."_

Seven had to leave, but before she did, some inexplicable human impulse prompted her to do one last thing. She lowered the force field, walked over to Chakotay's bedside (ignoring puzzled looks from the Doctor and Paris), and reached for his hand, which was flung out on his pillow.

She didn't realize it was her Borg-enhanced left hand until they were already touching. She squeezed once and let go, hoping she hadn't made things worse.

Paris let out a low, incredulous whistle.

"Comm me if you require assistance," she told the Doctor, heading for the door at her fastest walking pace.

/

"_Thank you for coming, Commander." _

_Seven of Nine's handshake was warm despite the steel in her fingertips. Chakotay watched in bewilderment as she spun around, slipped on a pair of black boxing gloves, and climbed briskly up into a boxing ring in front of him. She wore a silver tank top and shorts with her numbered designation printed on the back. He could hear the excited chatter of an audience, but everything besides the ring was in shadow._

"_What's going on?" he asked Boothby. "What's she doing here?"_

"_You didn't think your fight was the only one scheduled, did you?" said the old man, nudging him with his elbow to stand closer to the ropes. "Pay attention, boy. You might learn something."_

_The scene that unfolded inside the ring, however, was more like a horror film than a boxing match. Seven's opponent was the Borg Queen herself, her greenish skin glistening like a corpse's under the spotlights, cold contempt on her face. As they fought, the Queen seemed to split herself and multiply, her arms, legs and torso disconnecting, nanoprobes crawling out of her skin to swarm Seven like insects. It made his own skin crawl just to watch._

"_What the hell?" Chakotay demanded. "We've got to do something!"_

_He lunged for the ropes. Boothby grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back, impossibly strong for such a little old man. "Oh no, we don't."_

"_Damn it, Boothby, she's outnumbered! That's against every rule in the book. We've got to stop this."_

"_That's not how it works, son." Boothby's grip on him was still firm, but his eyes were sympathetic. "This is her fight, not yours. Everybody's got their own opponent. But what you can do, son, is watch and learn – and be there for each other when it's over."_

_So Chakotay watched, and as he did, his fear and concern for her became blended with awe. Seven of Nine wasn't helpless, not by far. Just when the Borg Queen seemed to have her cornered, she would lash out like a bolt of silver lightning, unpredictable, impossible to catch. _

"_Look how she moves," said Boothby, grinning. "She's scared, she doesn't know if she'll make it to the end, but it'll still be worth the fight. That's what you need, Chakotay." His trainer poked him emphatically in the chest. "Don't be afraid of the unknown."_

_Despite himself, Chakotay's eyes followed Seven's body in that short, tight, shiny outfit. By "the unknown", did Boothby only mean chaotic space – or something more?_

_Before he could pursue that tangent any further, though, Seven astonished him even further by knocking the Borg Queen out. She stayed down for one … two … three seconds. She did not get up._

"_End match," said the computer. "Winner: Seven of Nine, one: zero."_

_The invisible audience roared their approval. Boothby put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Chakotay clapped until his palms tingled._

_Seven's eyes met his._

_She climbed out of the ring and came up to him, solemn-faced despite her victory. "You stayed," she said, surprised, almost shy._

"_Congratulations," was all he could think to say. _

"_Nice work." Boothby clapped her on the shoulder, then turned to Chakotay, holding out a familiar pair of black gloves. "You're up next, son. You ready?"_

_He stared down at the gloves with a shiver of nerves. Was he ready? The Borg Queen at least had been a known quantity. Kid Chaos, on the other hand …_

_He looked up at Seven, who was still watching him. "Will you … " He paused awkwardly. "Will you be there? To watch, I mean."_

"_Would you prefer me to leave?"_

"_Please stay," he said, holding out both hands. "You make me feel stronger."_

"_Strange," she said, a subtle smile in the corners of her mouth. "I could say the same of you."_

_Boothby placed the gloves in his hands. He put them on and climbed into the ring._

_Seven did not wish him luck or anything else conventional. The Borg had no concept of luck, he knew. She did not say a word as Neelix, Kathryn, the Doctor and the rest of the senior crew surrounded the ring, shouting warnings or encouragements according to type. But she stood as close to the ropes as possible, her bright blue eyes trained on his until the last possible moment._

"_Begin round one," said the computer._

_Kid Chaos was hopping from foot to foot at the opposite end of the ring, his back turned. _

_Chakotay put up his fists and braced himself for the fight._

/

Seven was not there when Chakotay had his breakthrough on the bridge. She witnessed their return to normal space via the astrometric sensors and could guess what had happened, but she did not get the chance to see him until the next morning, when he was released from Sickbay after a night of observation.

"Your report, Commander," she said, handing him the padd as he walked into Astrometrics.

He looked better. His skin, no longer pale or clammy, was its natural light brown. His dark eyes were clear and alert as they met hers. He walked with his head up, his broad shoulders filling out his uniform as they should. He'd taken the time to style his hair (honestly, she thought it looked better in its natural state – although why she would have opinions about the Commander's hair at all was a mystery to her) and he even smiled at her as he accepted the report.

"Tom and the doctor tell me you helped them take care of me," he said. "While I was, um … I just wanted to thank you. I know nursing isn't really part of your job."

She blushed. Had they told him about the handholding? "All I did was observe the scans from your cortical monitor."

"Nevertheless, I appreciate it." He gave her a small, polite nod, almost like her own.

"How was your … " What should she call it? " … fight?"

He frowned down at his hands, which were unmarked, but seemed to move rather stiffly as he flexed his fingers. "Let's just say Kid Chaos wasn't an opponent I'd want to face again. The guy packs quite a punch."

It was uncanny to hear him talk about his hallucinations like that, but she made an effort at keeping her face steady. He had never shown fear of her when she talked about the Borg.

"What do you remember about chaotic space or its inhabitants?" she asked, curious about chaotic space despite herself.

"Not much, honestly, and I don't want to. I'm not sure a human mind could handle seeing those life forms the way they really are."

This view was foreign to the Borg side of her, whose goal was to assimilate every new information that came her way, but the human side understood. Sometimes the cost of knowledge was too high, and Chakotay's sanity would have definitely too high a cost.

"I could send you some of the alien geometry they showed me," he added. "Some of it should still be saved on the Ops station monitor."

"Thank you, Commander," she said with real gratitude. She would enjoy having new data to analyze. It was so much safer than real life.

"Oh, and Seven … ?"

"Sir?"

Turning to go, he looked over his shoulder and smiled at her one more time. "Ever think of taking up boxing?"

"No." Before this past week, she would have dismissed the sport as irrelevant. Today, she found the idea of two people, even holograms, trying to beat each other unconscious downright disturbing. Especially since part of her couldn't help but wonder what he'd look like in the ring, his strategic mind at work, his strong body in motion, all that raw power he kept under control suddenly unleashed …

"You're a strong woman, you know," he said. "Not just physically, I mean. Instinct tells me you'd be good at it … but only if you'd like to."

She tugged on the sleeves of her biosuit. She knew she was strong; her Borg implants ensured it. She had overpowered Tuvok once, with a Vulcan nerve pinch, no less. But no one had ever credited her with non-physical strength before. She wasn't even certain what that meant. Would he really invite her to study a form of combat without using it against him or his crew? Had he really come to trust her that much?

"Perhaps another time," she said.

It was a safe answer, one the Doctor had taught her for turning down unwanted invitations, but in this case she meant it. Perhaps someday she would feel comfortable enough in this part-human, part-Borg body to test its abilities further. But not today.


End file.
